Memory

The dust rolled past as I curved my back, trying to loosen my cramped muscles. Sweat spilled down my face, and into my eyes; blearing the long road ahead. An occasional tree would roll by and offer its ragged shade to rest under, but I could not stop for fear that I would get lost when my dad's red bike disappeared into the hazy outline of the desolate road, disappearing in the heat waves that lazely rose upward. I blinked.

Two hours of cycling for a normal person, even in the best of weather, will deplete one's strength. This was different though. This was Africa, where the sun beats down on even the strongest and drains the strength of those who attempt to challenge it. My Dad was also there cycling about ten metres in front of me. He would pass an occasional word of encouragement back whenever he got the chance.

Suddenly my bike hit a rock and I fell sprawling on the ground. I bellowed, as pain surged through me. I looked down. My leg had numerous gashes and blood mingled with sand, giving it a frightening appearance. I quickly looked up and gritted my teeth. Each thump off my heart released another wave of agony. My bike, carried by momentum rolled on for a split second, and then fell to the ground.

My dad circled around and came back to me. He looked concerned and yet his love for his firstborn shone through. He said something about how he wished it had happened to him, instead of me. He took a paper towel, and before I could stop him, poured his last remaining water onto it. A few drops fell onto the parched earth and quickly evaporated. I knew he must have been thirsty as I was; water was as precious as gold. Then he gave it to me and I began the tedious process of cleaning my injured leg.

As soon as I finished, my dad and I hopped on our bikes again. My leg still throbbed and every time I saw a rock I slowed down. I could hear our destination in the distance but it was almost half an hour until I finally saw a glimpse of the waterfall. We finally reached it. It was beautiful. Light sparkled on the water as it roared down the steep, water worn wall; crashing into the sharp rocks at the bottom. There was a small pool of water at the top of the waterfall, fueling the beast from the many mountain streams, trickling into the pool. My dad and I made our way to the top.

When we got to the top I was too tired to look up, and it was only after I caught my breath that I was able to raise my head. My breath stuck in my chest. Before me was a sight that took my breath away. It was like a painting; every detail distinct and clear, as if the scene had been frozen in crystal. Soft rays of sunlight seeped through the branches overhanging the water. The air was cool and brushed over me. Flat, moss topped rocks protruded from the still water. I reached down and slid my hand into the freezing water. It eased the pain from my raw hand. Delighted, I carefully started to wash my leg. Then my dad told me it was time to go and I reluctantly got to my feet. I cast a longing glance back as I picked up my bike and pedaled away.

fin.